


NEVER VISIT

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: By US standards, Fluff, HP: EWE, I'm Sorry, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Travel, Tumblr Prompt, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-02-28 17:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13276101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: Prompt: On everyone’s 18th birthday they receive a letter from their future selves. Some receive long messages about their future lovers or messages about changes they would have made. Yours contains nothing but a small list of locations and the words, “NEVER VISIT”.Of course, Harry doesn't trust the letter...





	1. NEVER VISIT

**Author's Note:**

> Another Tumblr induced ficlet, enjoy!
> 
> Thanks unadulteratedstorycollector, for the short notice beta! I appreciate it ❤️
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, though I frequently wish I did :p

“Harry, it says ‘never visit!’” Hermione scolded, her hands on her hips and challenge shining in her eyes. “If you won't listen to me, listen to yourself.”

Harry chuckled, tossing another shirt into his trunk. “You expect me to trust a bit of parchment that says it's from the future?”

“Everyone gets one, Harry,” Ron said, wiping his hands on his trousers and standing from the edge of Harry's bed, where he watched his friend pack with a slightly horrified expression. “It's the only one you got, that must mean it's the real deal.”

He eyed the letter lying on the bedside table, and Harry followed his gaze. “NEVER VISIT” it warned and, under that, a list of locations, followed by dates, was scrawled. There was no denying, it was definitely his handwriting, but Harry didn't trust it.

“What if they're the locations of Death Eaters?” he asked. “What if the letter isn't really from me? What if I'm supposed to be there? What will I miss, if I don't go?”

“Oh, Harry.” The large, brown eyes staring so vehemently into his softened, watering at the corners. “Is it worth the risk?”

“Yes,” he said, certainty clear in his voice. “The first one is in a week. I'm going.”

“We can't stop him, ‘Mione.”

“I know,” she sighed, slumping against him when he slipped an arm around her shoulder. “Just be careful, Harry.”

With a grateful smile, Harry threw his arms around his best friends, then turned back to packing. He'd need all the time he could get to find the place, not to mention collecting the right attire. Why the fuck did he go to Alaska?

-

Slouching back against the cushioned booth, Harry sighed. Okay, so he had managed it in just under a week, but now what? He didn't know what he was looking for, or what time, tomorrow, it would happen. But he was going to be ready.

With a quick glance around, he cast a subtle privacy charm, then pulled out his rucksack to check his supplies. Sirius’ two-way mirror - he'd left its twin with Ron and Hermione; every basic first aid potion he knew of, as well as antidotes to common poisons; and the Invisibility Cloak. He'd had to purchase the potions when he reached the US, as international portkeys prohibited traveling with them.

A tinkling chime sounded, alerting Harry to the arrival of a new customer. He glanced up, disinterested but still following the ingrained instinct, and froze. That couldn't be a coincidence. A letter telling him not to visit the place where Draco Malfoy was shedding his thick winter coat and kicking snow from sturdy leather boots? No, Malfoy was the reason he was here, he was sure of it.

Hastily replacing his supplies, Harry applied a simple glamour, disguising his features, then removed the privacy charm. When he looked up, the pale blond head was dipping forward as he spoke to the waitress at the counter, ordering his meal. When she walked away, tucking her pencil behind her ear, he slid onto a stool and unwound his scarf, his gaze wandering around the room, warily.

Harry watched, fully aware that he couldn't stride up to Malfoy in a diner, in Alaska, wearing a glamour, and interrogate him. As a small stack of pancakes was set before him, and he aimed a shy smile at the waitress, Harry decided it would be best to continue doing just that for a few days, before approaching him.

So, when Malfoy finally set down his fork, paid his tab, and rose, Harry was ready. He left the money for his coffee on the table and nipped off to the loo where he wrapped his cloak around his shoulders before ducking out again, just as Malfoy left the diner.

The hunt was on.

-

“Harry? It's two in the morning, what are you doing?”

Startled, Harry looked up and over to the doorway of his study, the origin of the soft voice. “I'm sorry, I just had to finish this,” he murmured, gesturing to the parchment on his desk.

“Is that the letter?”

“Yeah.”

Before he could anticipate the movement, Draco was across the room and snatching it up. Sleep-softened grey eyes scanned the letter, widening, then narrowing.

"Never visit?” he asked, incredulous. “What the fuck is this, Potter?”

“It's the letter for-”

“I know what it is.” His eyes flashing dangerously, he tossed the parchment back onto the desk and crossed his arms. “You're telling yourself not to go to Alaska? Or Rome, or the fucking off license in Manchester!”

“Draco, it's-”

“It's what, Potter? Are you trying to tell me something?”

“What?”

“If you want to break up, you could just fucking say it. There's no need to erase history.”

The blood froze in Harry's veins until he felt as cold as the look Draco was giving him. “That's- _No,_ Draco!” Quickly, he rose to his feet, grasping at narrow shoulders to keep Draco in place when he would have stormed off. “You don't understand. This is the only way to ensure I do go to Alaska, and all those other places!”

“What?” Draco spat. “That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever-”

“That letter is the only reason I went, in the first place,” Harry explained. “Would you trust a letter claiming it was from your future self?”

He frowned. “Yes. Everyone gets one.”

“Well, I didn't. I couldn't, not after the diary and Riddle. There are too many ways magic can fuck with people. I have to write it this way because, if I don't, I still won't trust it and I _won't_ go.”

“You could just not mention it, at all,” Draco reasoned, but his eyes were softening, his expression dimmed to confused annoyance.

Taking a chance, Harry stepped closer, slipping one hand around the back of Draco's neck and moving the other to his waist. “I still wouldn't go. I wouldn't have any reason to. I was about to start Auror training, before that letter came.”

“Oh.” Sighing, Draco rested his forehead against Harry's, leaning into him, at last. “And you're sure it will work?”

“Absolutely. Trust me.”

“I do.” A smile finally curled his lips, untying the slippery knot his reaction had tangled in Harry's stomach, and he angled his chin up to offer those lips in a kiss. “All right, Potter, come to bed,” he ordered with a light slap to Harry's chest. “If I wake up in a different timeline, I'll hunt you down, do you hear me?”

“You'd better,” Harry laughed, following him to their bedroom. “I don't want to live my life without you.”

Daco stilled, the duvet in his hand as he moved to climb into their bed. His cheeks flushed, but his eyes locked with Harry's for a long moment before he seemed to shake himself.

“You're a sop, Potter,” he sneered, but he rolled over, the instant they were covered, wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and laid his head on his chest. “I love you, too.”


	2. Say You Love Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all (and this is an edit because I'm a terrible friend and human being) a HUUUUUUGGGGEEEEE thank you to @the-cellar-spiral for beta'ing this chapter! I appreciate it so much! ❤️❤️❤️ I've done it! I've begun posting chapters of an unfinished, multi chapter fic T^T I swore I never would, but you guys seemed so excited for the rest of this story. For which I am eternally grateful ❤️❤️❤️I don't know how long this will be or how often I'll post, but I'll try to keep it reasonable. At the very least, it will give me an escape from my massive WIPs. I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Also, I'm a sucker for new ideas :p if you have one you think might work, by all means, share it! I'd love to see of I can incorporate anything. Especially as I don't know exactly what's going to happen next. Endgame established, but who knows how we'll get there :p

For what must have been the fiftieth time in under an hour, Draco started and glanced up at the doorway. The man who strode into the little pub outside of Roanoke, Virginia, did so loudly, greeting his mates and the bartender with raucous laughter and barmy Americanisms, and clapping several men on their shoulders. Draco tried to make himself smaller on his stool at the other end of the long, oaken bar. 

Fuck. This was becoming ridiculous. 

It had been more than a month since he fled Alaska, and Potter had yet to rear his ugly head. Well, that was a bit of a stretch… For all his faults, and the bird’s nest he called hair, Potter never had lacked in looks. Draco blamed his eyes; that vivid green, set like emeralds in a rich, dark wood and framed by jet black lashes and brows. Add years of Quidditch to the scrawny body and Harry Potter was, quite frankly, gorgeous. But he was still a prat. 

And, Draco thought, he would always be a prat. Regardless of what his future self thought. 

The laughter from down the bar peaked, again, as another bloke joined the others and another round of greetings filled the dim pub. Draco threw back his whiskey and gestured to the bartender for another. As he had when he took Draco's transfigured chocolate frog identification card earlier in the night, he gave a sour, distrustful look. Americans were very strict about age laws - Draco had learned that in Alaska. But he filled the glass with two fingers of the swill that passed for whiskey in the US before shuffling away again. 

Around his third drink, the barroom went quiet and Draco turned to see the door swinging shut on empty air. All of the gathered men were staring at it, whispering to each other before making mock-ominous sounds and elbowing each other. Assuming one of them men had left in a huff, Draco returned to his drink and let them get on with it. 

-

When he woke the next morning with no memory of how he arrived in his rented rooms, Draco did the only thing he could do. He panicked. In a mad dash, he collected his belongings, again, and cursed Potter for showing up where he wasn't wanted. Again. 

Leaving the rent he owned on the bureau, and his heavy winter coat on the bed - he was determined to go somewhere hospitable, this time - he turned to apparate directly to the Portkey Office in Richmond, despite having been there only once, and hurriedly purchased a portkey to Sorrento. Now he just had to wait. 

-

Stepping into the off-license, Draco cringed at the harsh, artificial lighting. There was a reason wizards used candles, torches, and orbs, damn it.

Okay, so he wasn't in the best mood. As if he wasn't already suffering, Pansy deemed Draco to be the best option for the task of restocking her alcohol supply in time for her New Year's bash. He now had just over twenty-four hours to complete the task and a screaming headache to contend with. Which made the lighting doubly offensive. 

Groaning, he headed toward the aisles, checking his list frequently to be sure he found everything Pansy requested. What that woman had against a decent wine or firewhiskey was a complete mystery. But he had collected each bottle, dutifully, and was struggling through an entire aisle of brandy when the bell above the door announced another customer. 

Squinting at the list again, Draco tried to make out the minute lettering which was, by all accounts, tantamount to complete gibberish. There didn't appear to be anything called Robin's Hood on the shelves… 

“Draco!” 

Startled out of his musings, Draco looked up. Then groaned and wheeled back around to leave the aisle from the other side.

“Draco, wait!” Harry - _Potter_ \- called, jogging after him. 

“Fuck off, Potter.” Rounding a corner, Draco headed for the checkout, thoroughly done with this venture. 

“Draco!” Potter called, then again, seemingly confused. “Draco?” Merlin, of course Harry Potter would get lost in shop. Just more evidence he was an immature, man-child incapable of functional thought processes and consideration and- 

“Draco!” Fuck Gryffindor tenacity. 

“This is ridiculous,” he said, marching down the aisle. His fists were clenched at his sides and his eyes, so soft and warm the last time Draco saw them, were wide and edging on panicked. “Can't we just talk like fucking adults?” 

The pounding behind Draco's eyes was becoming unbearable, urging him past resignation and into anger. When was close enough, Draco jabbed a finger into the soft flesh of Potter’s chest, the part of him that made a magnificent pillow mere months before, and ignored the tug on his heart when he saw the dark circles under those eyes. 

“I fucking tried that, thank you! You're the one who started this whole thing! What the hell possessed you to stalk me across the fucking planet? Why couldn't you leave me alone?” Throwing up his hands in frustration, he gestured to the shop around them. “How did you even find me, here?” 

“I'm sorry, Draco,” Potter said, catching his wrist. “I was scared. It's a lot to take in and everything happened so fast, I-” “Fast?” Draco tugged fruitlessly at his hand, scowling. “Three bloody years is fast?” 

But it was, really. That time seemed to fly by. After the first time, Potter showed up in Alaska, it seemed Draco was constantly running. When he stopped, Potter was there. Eventually, he gave up trying to work out how, even why. For fuck’s sake, and for all the good it did him, he fell in love with the bastard. Just like he knew he would. 

“Just… Leave me alone, Potter.” The resignation in Draco's voice seemed to stun him and Potter released his hand, ducking his head for a moment. 

“Please, Draco. I was a bloody idiot and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please.” He lifted his head and the pain and longing in his eyes clenched painfully around Draco's heart. “I love you. I thought- I always thought I supposed to catch you out, but- please, Draco, just talk to me.” 

For months, Draco wanted to hear those words. For more, he wished Harry had just said them, then. But the rest of his words told the truth of the matter; Harry didn't trust him, never had. Never would. 

“What is it, exactly, you were meant to catch me doing? Living my life? Moving on? Trying to be better than my fucking father? You did all of that, Potter, congratulations. Now leave me the fuck alone.”

He moved to step around Harry, but a hand shot out to stop him, taking hold of his wrist again. 

“It was the letter. It was stupid, but I thought-” 

“The letter?” Draco asked, paling. “What letter?” 

He thought of the letter he'd received, all those years ago. It was tucked, as it always was, in the secret pocket of his trunk, now buried in Pansy’s closet. A constant reminder of what a fool he'd been. He wrote the letter, and sent it, while Harry slept. One week before the arsehole broke his heart. 

“The letter I got on my eighteenth birthday,” Harry was saying. “It- it was a list of dates, and places. Places where I'd find you. I thought it meant I had to follow you, watch you. That'd I'd catch you doing something… Evil,” he finished lamely, lifting a hand to scrub at the back of his neck. 

Draco stared, unsure what to say. That certainly explained one mystery, but… 

“I'm sorry, Draco. It's stupid, I know that now. And I- I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want. This is the last on the list. I won't be able to find you again. I just- I couldn't let it end that way. I do love you. I didn't plan to, but it happened and I couldn't let you go on thinking I don't.”

When Draco continued to stare, Harry shrugged, a look of abject rejection marring his handsome face, and turned to leave. And Draco watched him go, still trying to process the new information. The bell sounded as he went through the door, again, and the sound spurred Draco into motion. 

Leaving his trolley in the aisle, he raced through the shop and out, into the biting cold of winter. 

“Harry!” he shouted, pausing to scan the car park before racing toward the dark figure that turned at his call. Arms opened to catch him when he flung himself at Harry, closing tightly around him as Draco caught his lips in a desperate kiss. 

“Gods, you're a fucking idiot, Potter,” he panted, gasping for breath while simultaneously peppering Harry's face with kisses. “What am I supposed to do with you? Can't even fall in love properly.”

“I'm sorry. I know. I'm sorry, Draco, just-” Harry tangled a hand in Draco's hair, tugging him back to take his lips, again. “Fuck, don't do that again,” he said between kisses. “Don't leave me, Draco. Always fucking leaving. Stay. Stay with me.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” Draco promised, his arms tightening around Harry's shoulders. “I'm not going anywhere, you pillock.” 

“Well, you should probably collect your shopping, but after that…” He quirked a grin, pulling a laugh from Draco. 

“Yes, after that.”

“Say it again, Draco,” Harry pleaded. “Say you love me. It's been months. I've forgotten what it sounds like.” Smirking, Draco leaned his forehead against Harry's and pressed a hand to his cheek. 

“I love you, Harry.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️❤️❤️


	3. Berwick Upon Tweed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go! Chapter three, for your reading pleasure (goodness, I hope)
> 
> Thank you, Elly, for the beta!

Sighing, Harry looked around as he let himself into the small room. This time, he paid for the month in advance. It had taken him nearly twice that time to find Malfoy in Roanoke, and Sorrento just wasn't that big. The way even the dwellings seemed to exist in a chaotic jumble, one on the shoulders of another, and another, there was little chance Harry would miss the fair skin and hair for long, in this place. 

Flopping onto the bed, he groaned in frustration. Malfoy was a mystery. For a month after finding him, Harry followed, avoiding contact entirely. This time, anyway. If he was to figure out what the pointy git was up to, it wouldn't do to scare him away, again. Of course, that was exactly what he'd done, wasn't it? 

He should have known Malfoy would scarper off the moment he realised he didn't make it back to his rooms without help. And what the hell had Harry been thinking, helping a sloshed Draco Malfoy through frostbitten streets? It wasn't his business. What did he care if the idiot froze to death? 

He didn't care.

Except, Malfoy couldn't die like that. There were too many places left on the list. And, maybe, there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind. An annoying little voice urging Harry on. Saying he didn't save Malfoy from the fire so he could freeze on the streets of America. 

And that was true, wasn't it? Malfoy was a git. A pointy git. He was a racist scumbag. Or, he was raised to be one. But, he hadn't killed Dumbledore. He hadn't given Harry up to Bellatrix Lestrange. In spite of his - admittedly dimming - hatred for the man, Harry didn't want Malfoy to die. 

Of course, he didn't particularly want to chase him across the world, either, but he was determined to get to the bottom of this. 

Rising, determination setting his jaw, Harry pulled a change of clothes from his pack, locked and warded the door, and headed to the shower. Tonight, he began his search. Again. 

-

Malfoy was on edge. After about a month in the sun, he seemed to have a permanent red tint to his face, and he'd taken to pulling his hair back in a stubby tail and donning a wide brimmed hat against the harsh neapolitan sun. Frankly, Harry found himself wondering why he didn't use a spell or potion to protect his skin. Not that he cared, of course. 

Even so, Malfoy was the only person around who wasn't relaxed simply by the atmosphere of the tourist hotspot. He sat at a café on the Marina Grande, nursing a cappuccino for over an hour while the world moved on around him. His spine straight, his eyes guarded, jumping and staring at every passerby. 

Harry, disguised by glamours and concealed under a disillusionment charm, was beginning to feel guilty. After Alaska and Virginia, Malfoy was clearly expecting him to show up, seemingly out of nowhere. He hadn't done anything more suspicious than removing his shoes to walk along the beach in ages. 

Of course, his nervousness should have been suspicious enough, but Harry was beginning to doubt he was up to anything at all. He was just… running. He could have been running toward something nefarious, but that seemed unlikely at this point. He could have been running from Harry, though he had no reason to do so before the confrontation in Alaska. 

Which meant, Harry knew, he was running from his past. The thought was difficult to accept, but there was no evidence to the contrary. Malfoy was simply trying to move on with his life, and Harry's presence was hindering that. 

When he jumped at the sound of a seabird passing overhead and rose, leaving his table hurriedly, Harry knew Malfoy would be gone by morning. It was just as well. He should return to England, himself. Auror training wouldn't wait forever. 

-

“New Zealand?” Harry asked, panting as he fell to the bed. “Why New Zealand?” 

Laughing, Draco rose to prop himself on one elbow, grinning down at him. “Why not?” he asked. “I've never been.”

And it was as simple as that. Draco had told him, many times over the past year, that every place he'd chosen was somewhere he'd never visited before. Even France. Sure, he would visit his mother in Nice and he'd been to Paris several times, but the little city of Brest was completely foreign to him. 

At least, that's what he thought. Harry, on the other hand, was beginning to see a pattern. 

“Is that right?” he asked, nodding sagely as he lifted a hand to finger the long, pale hair. It was longer than it had been the last time Harry saw him. “How was the beach?” 

“I don't know what you mean,” Draco laughed. Bending, he pressed a kiss to Harry's jaw, then a hand. As he trailed his lips up, his fingers wormed idly through the scraggly hair. “But it was lovely,” he conceded, smirking. 

“I knew it.” When Draco snuggled against his side, Harry wrapped an arm around his shoulders, sighing contentedly. “One day, you'll have to pick a place and stay there,” he admonished. 

“Oh, I've already chosen a place,” Draco said, beaming up at him. 

Harry ignored the way his heart clenched, and rubbed a hand over Draco's shoulder. “That's wonderful. Where will you go?” 

“I've been considering a property in Berwick. It's great, you'll love it. Of course,” he said, jerking back a little. “Only if you want to. We can look somewhere else, if you'd rather.”

Something twisted in Harry's gut, a sort of dread settling in its wake. Slowly, he sat up, pulling Draco's borrowed sheets over his lap. “What do you mean?” he asked, knowing even as he spoke that it was wrong. Everything was wrong. “You should live where you want to live.”

“Well, yes, of course. But, Harry.” Draco sat, as well, his voice cautious, hesitant. “It's so far from London. You'd have to commute to the ministry.” 

There it was. The expectation, the plans for the future. Draco expected this to last, and Harry felt the weight of his letter burning a hole in his mind from where it sat beside his own bed, miles away. The deadline it hinted at, the end of this game of cat and mouse that consumed his life for the past years… It would end, he knew. And soon. There was only one place left on his list.

“Draco,” Harry began, sighing when he stiffened. It had to be done, though. He couldn't let Draco go on thinking it would last, much as Harry, himself, wanted it to. “I'm not- you have to choose somewhere you want to-” 

“Stop,” Draco ordered, lifting a hand to cut him off. He snorted and shook his head. “I can't fucking believe this. You don't want to live with me.”

It wasn't a question, but Harry shook his head. “It's not that! Draco, I-” 

“Damn it, Harry! What has this been to you?” Rising fluidly, Draco looked around for a pair of trousers, then yanked them on. “I love you, you twat! And you don't even want to live with me? In the future? Sometime?” 

“Draco, I-” Harry tried, reeling from the hurled admission, but Draco went on as if he'd never spoken. 

“Fine,” he said, bending and gathering up his clothes, snatching a book from the bedside table, and marching across the room. “No, that's fine Potter. I'll just fuck off then, shall I?”

Harry vaulted from the bed as Draco disappeared into the closet, not bothering with pants or jeans, and threw the door open, an argument already tripping over his tongue. 

But the closet was empty. Draco was gone. 

Kicking the door and cursing, Harry stormed away, threw himself back onto the bed. It would be another two months before he knew where to find Draco again. 

Fuck! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! ❤️


	4. Breaking the Habit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to Maesterchill for being a fantastic beta! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

It took a month for Draco to relax, to let his guard down and enjoy his surroundings. It wasn't easy but, after Sorrento, he was beginning to think Potter had given up. Which suited him just fine. It was proof that his letter was wrong. 

Ignoring the way his heart clenched at the thought, Draco padded to one of the mesh covered windows of the minuscule bungalow he'd rented. The jungle was humid, hostile, and horribly inconvenient, but the view was to die for. From every direction, trees and underbrush closed in on the little village. Paths crisscrossed here and there, waterlogged stepping stones made from large sections of tree trunks and surrounded by runoff from the nearby river. And, beyond the wall of trees, the sounds of the ocean were a soothing backdrop. 

It was a world away from anything Draco knew, but it was peaceful. Quiet in a way even Alaska hadn't been. On any given day, the only sounds at all came solely from the surrounding nature; birds and insects, the screech of monkeys. 

Eventually, after he grew bored of the four walls around him, Draco ventured out. Layering insect repellent charms and sun blocking potions, he decided he'd try his hand at hiking through the formidable terrain. And it wasn't all bad, as far as experiences went. Sure, he ended up curled in his bed a few hours after leaving it, certain that something was crawling on him even though he couldn't find any actual evidence of it. But he'd seen the most beautiful, colourful creatures he'd ever encountered on his little island. He'd even braved the treacherous looking rope bridge the tourist brochures advertised. 

A couple of times, he wished Potter had followed him there. The thrill seeking prat would have loved it. Danger around every corner. Of course, the thought had nothing to do with Draco's letter, or Potter's perpetually wild hair and piercing eyes. He simply longed for something familiar. 

But Draco pushed those thoughts away. For the first time in his life, Potter was doing what Draco wanted him to; he was leaving him the fuck alone. And that was worth the homesickness he felt when he thought about the man. 

Even so, he had to find something to fill his time. Since straying into the rainforest again was out of the question, that left his little hut in the village and his quiet spot on the beach as the only places to go. Maybe he could find something in the village… 

-

It didn't take long to realise the futility of such an endeavor. There was the occasional tourist, but his little corner of the jungle was rather isolated. The villagers were friendly enough, but activities became repetitive after a while. 

He decided to try reading. Reading was always a safe option for killing time. Except it had never occurred to Draco to pack more than a few books. He assumed his journey would be much shorter and he'd be somewhere with a book or stationary shop. 

As it was, he was halfway through a book he hadn't enjoyed the first time he read it, and he had nothing to write with or on. Another month had passed and he was ripping out his hair from boredom. 

Not literally, of course. He would never do such a thing to his hair. 

It was time to go. Potter wasn't coming and Draco was driving himself mad telling himself he wasn't waiting for him. Repacking his belongings, he wracked his brain for where to go next. 

Somewhere with shops, obviously. Somewhere warm—or at least not cold. Maybe he could visit his mother. She was back in France, she'd said so in her letters. And there was likely something more interesting to do there. He was beginning to miss brewing; maybe he could visit a few shops in Nice… 

Yes, a trip to the south of France sounded lovely. Just what he needed. 

-

More excited than he cared to admit, Draco yanked open the door to his little flat in Otura. 

“I knew you'd come,” he teased, pleased when Harry had the decency to look sheepish. “What took you so bloody long?” 

“Come on, Draco, you know I had training. I can only come at the weekend.”

“The weekend began eight hours ago, Potter.”

“Yes, well, if you didn't insist on jetting off all over the planet, it might be easier to get to you when the weekend starts.” Ducking under the arm Draco was using to block the entrance, Harry dropped his overnight bag beside the futon and wandered toward the little garden growing near the window. “How's Japan?” 

“It's lovely,” Draco said, rolling his eyes as he swung the door closed. “I'm testing a theory,”

“You're always testing a theory,” Harry said absently, bending to inspect the native mugwort Draco had been babying for over six months. “How's the potion coming along?” 

Chuckling, Draco slipped up behind him, snaking his arms around Harry's waist and leaning forward to nip at his earlobe. “We have less than forty-eight hours before you have to leave again, and you want to discuss potions?” 

Straightening, Harry turned in his arms, a grin spreading on his handsome face. “You're right. Don't know what I was thinking.” 

He bent his neck a little, finally catching Draco's lips with his own. How long had it been? Only a week, but it felt longer since he’d had the taste of Harry, the feel of his hands gently kneading Draco's hips. Once he'd accepted the reality of his feelings, nothing could staunch the flow of desire he felt when Harry touched him. Looked at him. 

“Fuck,” Harry moaned when Draco lowered his lips to suckle at his pulse point, dragging his teeth over the corded muscle there. “Fucking hell, Draco. How am I supposed to focus on training when you remind me what I'm missing every time I come back?” 

“You're the one who keeps coming back,” Draco sniggered. “And why is that, exactly?” 

“Is this part of that theory you're testing?” Harry asked, trying to raise one eyebrow and failing. His eyebrows, the muscles abysmally linked, rose as one, giving him a somewhat puzzled appearance. “You know why I come back.” 

As if to emphasise his point he rolled his hips, dragging his cock against Draco's and pulling a groan from him. “I suppose I do,” he murmured. “But how you're doing it is another matter, entirely.”

Harry merely laughed at the implied question, backing them slowly toward the futon. “It's the same way I always find you, Draco. Ever since Hogwarts.” His hands flexed, holding Draco tightly as he toppled them onto the squashy mattress. 

“Oh?” Draco asked, breathlessly. 

“Of course. I have a map.” 

Draco groaned but let the subject drop. He meant what he'd said; they were wasting time discussing irrelevant topics. He was much more interested in what Harry had beneath his faded denims, and finding out was considerably easier… 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️


	5. Musée Matisse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More exuberant thanks to Maesterchill!!! You're an angel! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Glancing down at the pamphlet in his hands, Harry shook his head. He didn’t know what had possessed him to come. He had decided to leave Malfoy alone, had even skipped the last location altogether. That hadn’t been easy; he would have loved to see Draco Malfoy try to keep his posh image in the middle of the Amazon rainforest. 

But he hadn’t gone. Because he was leaving Malfoy alone. And Harry had his own life to live. Auror training had begun and, even though most of his friends were two years ahead of him by then, he was really getting into the swing of it.

Which begged the question, then, why was he standing outside the Musée Matisse? Why had he been unable to ignore the date and location from his letter? 

As the day approached, Harry’d found himself becoming restless. Ron and Hermione had begun to notice when he stared off into space in the midst of conversation, how the smallest reminder of the man had set his mind wandering. What was Malfoy doing now? Where was he? Some previously quiet corner of Harry’s mind seemed to think it would be near the ocean, wherever he was.

And that quiet little part of his mind had been his downfall. The thought stuck, circling in his mind until Harry had caved and dug out the worn letter, scanning it for the latest location.

Nice. On the southern coast of France. Definitely on the ocean. But how did he know that?

Well, it was clear… wasn’t it? Malfoy always chose the ocean or, at least an apparition’s distance from one. A little research told him that, even in the jungle, Malfoy had chosen the ocean. 

Thoughts of the man niggled at the back of Harry’s mind until he couldn’t take it any longer. The date on the letter was a week into his holiday before starting the last leg of his training. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to make an actual holiday of it. So he’d packed a bag, caught a portkey and, finally, was stood before the museum wondering what the hell to do next.

Well, surely the best thing to do was go inside. Screwing up his courage and squaring his shoulders, though he wasn't sure why he felt the need to do so, Harry marched into the building. 

-

Finding Malfoy wasn't difficult. The museum wasn't particularly busy, but even the many rooms didn't pose much of a challenge. The pale hair and posh drawl were a dead giveaway from the moment they caught Harry's attention. 

Malfoy wasn't alone, though. He was flanked by Narcissa Malfoy on one side and Pansy Parkinson on the other. They seemed relaxed, at ease, and Harry was loath to interrupt that. The war was over, and he was still certain Malfoy wasn't up to anything suspicious. 

So Harry watched. 

He watched as Malfoy gave a carefree laugh at something his mother whispered in his ear, his too-long hair falling back with the motion. As he paused before a painting with a thoughtful tilt to his head. As Parkinson hooked her arm around Malfoy’s elbow. 

Harry wondered briefly if it might be wise to apply a glamour, but it was already too late. At whatever Parkinson said when she leaned close to Malfoy, the pale head shot up and dark eyes met Harry's across the room. 

He froze, unsure of how to proceed. Malfoy was staring, still standing before the painting as his mother and Parkinson linked arms and trailed along to the next. The expression twisting those aristocratic features was a bit of a mystery to Harry. Malfoy looked almost pleased to see him, but that was still edged with a petulant sort of annoyance. 

Before Harry could think of what to do next, Malfoy was squaring his shoulders and marching across the room, fine leather shoes tapping importantly on waxed hardwood floors. 

“Potter,” he greeted with a curt nod. “I thought you had given up chasing me around the globe.”

“I- I did,” Harry stammered. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have- I thought maybe-” Malfoy smirked at him, one slim brow arched, and folded his arms expectantly. “You know what? It doesn't matter what I thought. I'm sorry.”

“You are?” 

“Yes.” He frowned then. “Shouldn't I be?” 

“Well,” Malfoy sighed with an exaggerated shrug. “I don't know. I suppose I could do without hopping from place to place for a while, if you've finished chasing me about.”

“I have,” Harry assured him, ducking his head and rocking back on his heels. “Promise.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Malfoy asked, an odd tone to his voice. 

Harry's head shot up, his eyes narrowed to scrutinise Malfoy’s face. Surely that sound, the hint of amusement tinged with exasperation, was his own imagination running rampant. Though, why his imagination would produce a flirtatious twinkle in those smokey eyes was anyone's guess. 

But Malfoy was still looking at him, waiting for an answer Harry didn't have. He glanced around the museum, casting about for an excuse for his presence and missing the most obvious choice. 

“Don't tell me you just happened to be here,” Malfoy sneered. “In a museum, in France. Alone.”

“I- I could be,” Harry argued lamely. 

“On the same day I just happen to be here?” Okay, that didn't sound terribly believable. “I suppose you just happened to be in Sorrento? And Alaska?”

“Fine,” Harry groaned. “I did stop. I did,” he insisted when Malfoy rolled his eyes. “But I knew you were going to be here and I was curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Potter. Was it worth the trip?” 

“Not really, no,” he lied, kicking himself when his eyes drifted down over Malfoy’s face - over his body. 

Shaking his head, Malfoy laughed and turned away. He caught Parkinson’s eye from where she stood in the archway into the next room, then turned and marched in the opposite direction. 

Harry watched him go, absolutely refusing to acknowledge the fact that his eyes were glued to the arse enticingly encased in fitted trousers and accentuated by the trim waistcoat Malfoy wore. Before he could drag his gaze away, Malfoy was turning, whatever he was poised to say halted as his eyes widened in obvious surprise. 

But he schooled his features into a knowing smirk and tossed his head toward the exit. “Come along then. There's a lovely little café down the road, I'll buy you a coffee.”

Startled, but not stupid enough to decline, Harry hurried after him into the warm summer sunshine.

-

Laughing, Harry scrubbed a hand through his hair and shot an amused glance at Draco. 

“I'm serious, Potter,” Draco laughed. “Not even a week into the hotel. It was ridiculous.” He shook his head, throwing his hair across his face in the wind. “Of course, I found other arrangements.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed. 

This was becoming difficult. Six months since the little café in Nice, and Harry was slowly losing his mind. He wasn't so oblivious as to wonder what was happening. It was plain as day.

Harry wanted Draco Malfoy. 

And Draco didn't help the situation any when he leaned heavily against Harry's side, gripping his elbow and giggling like they were lifelong friends. He was a surprisingly tactile person, always shoving at Harry's shoulders, nudging his ankle under the table when they met for lunch or dinner, catching his arm to slow him down when Draco wanted to ogle some potions ingredient or other. 

He'd been in Anjuna for a few months, working on an experimental potion. There were a surprising number of witches and wizards with stalls in the market, most selling trinkets and amulets, but Draco usually found the best suppliers of potions ingredients with relative ease. A great many of which were still illegal in England, but he assured Harry his potion would be safe to sell in the UK. 

It was a small village, near the Indian Ocean of course, and quiet. Except for the regular raves held on the beach after dark. They'd attended a couple, but Draco seemed content to spend their time together with good food and a quiet atmosphere, and Harry didn't mind. He never felt quite at ease in large crowds, especially crowds as chaotic as raves. 

That night was peaceful though, and they arrived at the cottage Draco was renting before Harry was ready to say goodnight. Draco, it seemed, felt the same way. 

“You're staying at the Courtyard?” he asked, turning to face Harry at the door. 

“Yeah. It's just over-” Pointing in the general vicinity of the hotel, Harry chuckled. “-there, somewhere.”

“I know where it is, Harry,” Draco smirked. Leaning back against the door, he eyed Harry while he fiddled with his keys. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” 

Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I- I probably shouldn't,” he said, lowering his eyes. “Want to be sure I get back without splinching myself.”

“You could always just… you know, stay?”

The hesitation in his voice, as much as the words themselves, had Harry jerking his head up. Draco was watching him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and staring at Harry with a hopeful expression. The invitation was clear so he turned to let himself into the cottage, throwing one last glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the dark entrance. 

Harry followed, the dryness of his mouth intensified by the lump forming in his throat. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Draco was there, crowding him against the hard wood and burying his hands in Harry's hair. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his lips a breath away. “You drive me fucking mad, Potter. How long will you make me wait?” 

Groaning, Harry snaked an arm around his waist, crushing his lips to Draco's, and took. If they had both been waiting, there was certainly no need to continue doing so. Walking them backward into the room, he fumbled with the clasp of Draco's trousers, stumbling to keep their lips joined, and finally took what he'd come to realise he had wanted for years. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️


	6. Epilogue - Or, How It Actually Began and Ended

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who read along and I'm sorry for the inconsistent posting schedule! I hope three chapters at once makes up for it :) Once again, thankyouthankyouthankyou Maesterchill!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Draco wanted to scoff. He wanted to laugh. All of those things one says they'll do if the impossible ever happens. Unfortunately, he couldn't punch anyone, as the only person around was his mother, and she didn't say it.

Since he couldn't do any of those things, he ran.

He knew he was a coward; every day of his life had proven that. He'd come to accept it. And running wasn't so bad, really. It was easier than deciding where to run.

His mother had a sad look in her eye, the day he left, and he felt like a criminal all over again. Even though he'd never been charged with a crime, thanks to Potter. It was shocking enough, that the saviour of the wizarding world, the chosen one, had chosen to come to his rescue. Again. He just couldn't accept the contents of his birthday letter.

Worse than the contents was the tone. His future self had taken (will take?) the clichéd school girl approach, gushing over the "perfect, once in a lifetime" love he'd found with one Harry Potter. 

Draco shuddered, and not just from the cold. Alaska. That should be far enough away to avoid whatever his future seemed to think was right for him. Far enough away to avoid Potter for the rest of his life. Because there was no way Potter would look for him on the other side of the world. There was no reason he would try, in spite of the last line of Draco's letter. "I know you want to run," it said. "I remember feeling that way when I read this, but it won't matter. He'll find you, wherever you go. He's Harry Potter, for fuck's sake." 

After a while, Draco allowed himself to relax. Alaska was a beautiful place, under the cold, and he found himself fascinated by the native approach to magic, so different from the practices he knew. So different from what he knew of US practices, and those of other native Americans, too. Even those witches and wizards who moved themselves up into the frozen frontier were a special breed. None of them looked at him with the open disdain their European counterparts had adopted after the war, likely due to their distance from it.

But time, and bad luck, have a way of catching up with a man. Two months after he arrived, just as he began to relax and enjoy his new environment, it caught up with Draco.

Someone was following him.

He didn't know who, though he had a few guesses. Every day, for the next month, he kept his usual routine; breakfast out, a bit of traveling around and just outside of the town, an evening in the local library, and dinner in his rented rooms. And he planned.

It was foolish, of course. Harry Potter had no reason to be in Alaska. But that could possibly make the reality worse. Who would follow Draco, otherwise, but scorned Death Eaters? Someone who knew of his subtle betrayal of the Dark Lord? He had no choice but to run, again. Knowing that, he would still prefer to be prepared.

So he planned where he would go next, studying his options, instead of the local culture he'd studied before, and hoped he had enough time to find someplace safe.

When the mysterious tail finally showed himself, before Draco was ready, his plans fled, leaving his mind blank. Standing before him, wrapped in heavy cloaks and drawing away the thinnest - an invisibility cloak - to reveal himself, was Harry Potter. He looked much the same as Draco remembered him from that chaotic battle mere months before. Except, he seemed to have lost the hard determination that carried him through the last year, leaving his handsome face looking as young as it was, marred only by a wrinkle of confusion and that famous scar.

"What are you up to, Malfoy?" he asked, and Draco was jerked out of his thoughts.

Panic took over and, forgetting his plans, he turned on his heel, apparating into his rooms. There, he gathered the meager possessions he'd carried with him and apparated again. He had to pick the next place to go in time to procure his next portkey.

-

All he could do was stare. Harry frequently had that effect on him, but this was different.

He was sat on their bed, denim clad legs crossed loosely at the ankles, shoulders hunched forward as he seemed engrossed in the words on the faded, wrinkled bit of parchment he held. A dopey, lopsided smile curled his lips, and he seemed oblivious to Draco's presence in the doorway.

Draco winced. Then took a deep breath and strode through the door, into the bedroom they'd shared for nearly a year.

"What are you doing, Potter?" he demanded, attempting a sneer that he almost certainly failed to manage.

Harry's head jerked up, anyway, and a sheepish expression threatened to replace the smile. It also failed. "Reading," he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "This is a work of art." He flicked the letter, for emphasis, and Draco groaned.

"Give it to me," he said, leaning forward, over the bed, to take it. Harry pulled it out of his reach, leaning away with a delighted laugh. "Potter, give me my letter!”

"Wanna know my favorite bit?" he asked, instead. He lifted his voice in a childish falsetto, giving it a breathy note, and read over the sound of Draco's protests. "'He's not the prat you always thought he was, Draco. He's sweet, and funny, and clever. He's everything you hoped he'd be, and tried to pretend he wasn't.'”

"I know what I wrote, Potter!”

"Did you already write it?" he asked, grinning. 

"No," Draco lied, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I won't, if you don't give me that letter.”

The grin widened and Harry held the letter out. When Draco reached for it, though, his other hand shot out to wrap around his wrist, pulling him onto the bed.

"I love you, you know?" Harry asked, nuzzling the top corner of Draco's ear, sending little ripples of happiness through him.

"You're a sop, Potter," Draco scoffed, but he was grinning. That same, lopsided grin Harry wore. "I love you, too.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are love and comments validate my existence ❤️❤️❤️


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